*Mirrored from InTheWire.com*
All is quiet, still, almost pure but in a tired out, almost expectant kind of way. The world has drawn it's breath and it's the brief moment before the exhale.
It's still dark and most of the daylight denizens are only just starting to cycle up from REM sleep, but here I sit, the few ,the downtrodden, the near minimum wage payed...
I am an AM Radio Station Board-Op, one of those shite jobs you do on the way to something hopefully better, preferably with better pay or at least something that sounds rather good when you're trying to make an impression on cher se la femme at the bar before the imminent last call(Preferably favorable as well).
I get up at ungodly hours so that others may listen to Oldies and Country music (It's a living, I do my own thing at other stations), nearly seamlessly uninterrupted for at least the hours of 5:30 AM to 2 PM, or at least half ass ignore it for that 5 minutes it takes to go to work or grab a pack of stogies from the petrol station. If I do my job right nobody ever really notices, it's only when I fuck up that the harpies start shrilling and the buzzards start circling awaiting my carcass.
I am still in a half daze gradually trying to convince myself that this is real, and once that's done spend the rest of the day forgetting it.
The hour may be semi-godless, and rather populationless at large, but it is kind of peaceful. The hustle and hullabaloo of mankind's day to day tide is yet to crest and it allows those like myself to better put things into perspective. I get my best thinking done at times like now, at least once I get my daily station routine out of the way, all the things they insist I do to keep the station running, legal and myself gainfullly employed.
I was up late with my other job, a similarly ungratifying filler job at a Television station that I do for the experience till about 11 last night, then got home by 12 and then tried to make up a little social life till 2 am. It makes the following morning a tad more draggy, but we have to try and remind ourselves that we do these jobs to augment our existing lives as opposed to overriding and usurping it. Without some pretension of normalacy and social intervention we kinda forget why we even bother with working beyond just fulfilling Maslow's basic Hierarchy, food, security, and occasional video games. We have to be more than the sum of our employment lest we lose whatever passes for a soul and become strictly automatons, another mindless cog in the machine.
Of course I am not overly concerened, I still retain to much of myself to completly fall into that trap. I am a shit poor cog, the minutia numbs the mind but doesn't completly wipe it out. I still dream.
I finish up with the basics: I crank up the transmitter, load the first show to air, update the weather reports for today, activate the commercial reels so we keep our advertsiers happy, take the readings to keep the FCC happy, update the weather phone to keep my various snooping supervisors happy and now that the 6 am starting time has passed without a hitch, it's time to make me a little happier.
Within legal and ethical boundaries at least, I am at work after all...
My mojo needs a little boost, and short of anything pharmaceutical popping up (Even if I really did still do that kinda thing), I need that Ambrosia/Nectar of the Columbian Shuck-n-Jive-Jovial-Jazzy-Hyper Gods of Warm Fuzzy Java Goodness.
My legal drug, Caffiene.
My Poison, COFFEE
Of course I actually have been taken with Sumatra blend as of late, this particular variant not giving me the bile of after-ass flavor that the Columbian beans had begun to sully my morning ritual with. I had shifted to milky chai for awhile (British habit I have found tolerably good) due to this harbinger of impending middle age: Acid Reflux.
This morning though I was out of my blend, but a conveniently placed bag from CuppaJoes convinced me there could be salavation from the Purgatory of Folgers, something called Yemen.
It smelled kinda funky, but after years of sampling various cuisines from around the world I have found that even well disguised entrees and beverages can be quite tasty if you get past the camoflage. Being a Southerner I have had to explain Bananna and Duke's mayonaise sandwiches often enough to the faint of heart; from snake to shark, sushi to crawdads, kebabs to kimchee, I have looked into the beady eyes of more than one variation of gastronomical Gehanna, grinned and said "I'd fancy another go at whatever that was, right tasty, and this time let's try the part with the wobbly bits in it..."
I was not to be deterred, I needed my FIXXXXXXXXX.
Yeeesh. The bastards haven't stocked up on the filters or spoons.
Time to get MacGyver on 'em, nobody will stop me.
So a paper towel filter and improvised stirrer later I was patiently wheeling an old office chair to the front stoop of the station. It's still dark, still calm and a got a cuppa java and clove on standby.
I am ready to get Trancendental here.
And as I lean back, smapling the dampness of the air, contrasting to the warmth of roasted bliss on my lips and the acrid, pungent roll of the smoke out of my lungs the music starts from the outdoor speakers.
Jim Croce.
"Ahhhhhhhhh."
True it's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown"; I would've preferred "Time in a Bottle", but I am trying to wake up, not mellow out per se.
This will do.
The man was cut down before his prime and the passage of years nothwithstanding I have rather dug him since the first time my step-father popped in an 8 track of his on some long forgotten road trip.
Coffee, Cloves and Croce.
This day may become bearable after all.
Sitting here, alone in the living, breathing near darkness of the predawn, lost in thought, feeling that mellow numbness and clarity that follows when one is near content and nothing else is required in the immedaite future. One can just sit and BE, lower the defenses and see what world and self has to say to one's psyche. When we lower the defenses (The one's we never seem to realize we have in place, being so automatic and natural as slipping into your undershorts first thing in the morning) the small voices that have been there all along can finally whisper to you of wisdom and worry, folly and fairytales as well as the occasional dirty joke you forgot the punchline to the week before.
At times like this it can seem the whole world is wide open before you, yet small enough to be attainable, once you finish up with what you're doing, which is really nothing right now. It's all just mere and simple contentment, a small pleasure, an island in the sea of life, a brief plateau and breather before the climb to the next level, and while I'm here it's all open and waiting, for a moment me and the world are having a shared moment, later on, who knows?
Somethings will happen, anything is possible, nothing is guaranteed....
All is quiet, still, almost pure but in a tired out, almost expectant kind of way. The world has drawn it's breath and it's the brief moment before the exhale.
It's still dark and most of the daylight denizens are only just starting to cycle up from REM sleep, but here I sit, the few ,the downtrodden, the near minimum wage payed...
I am an AM Radio Station Board-Op, one of those shite jobs you do on the way to something hopefully better, preferably with better pay or at least something that sounds rather good when you're trying to make an impression on cher se la femme at the bar before the imminent last call(Preferably favorable as well).
I get up at ungodly hours so that others may listen to Oldies and Country music (It's a living, I do my own thing at other stations), nearly seamlessly uninterrupted for at least the hours of 5:30 AM to 2 PM, or at least half ass ignore it for that 5 minutes it takes to go to work or grab a pack of stogies from the petrol station. If I do my job right nobody ever really notices, it's only when I fuck up that the harpies start shrilling and the buzzards start circling awaiting my carcass.
I am still in a half daze gradually trying to convince myself that this is real, and once that's done spend the rest of the day forgetting it.
The hour may be semi-godless, and rather populationless at large, but it is kind of peaceful. The hustle and hullabaloo of mankind's day to day tide is yet to crest and it allows those like myself to better put things into perspective. I get my best thinking done at times like now, at least once I get my daily station routine out of the way, all the things they insist I do to keep the station running, legal and myself gainfullly employed.
I was up late with my other job, a similarly ungratifying filler job at a Television station that I do for the experience till about 11 last night, then got home by 12 and then tried to make up a little social life till 2 am. It makes the following morning a tad more draggy, but we have to try and remind ourselves that we do these jobs to augment our existing lives as opposed to overriding and usurping it. Without some pretension of normalacy and social intervention we kinda forget why we even bother with working beyond just fulfilling Maslow's basic Hierarchy, food, security, and occasional video games. We have to be more than the sum of our employment lest we lose whatever passes for a soul and become strictly automatons, another mindless cog in the machine.
Of course I am not overly concerened, I still retain to much of myself to completly fall into that trap. I am a shit poor cog, the minutia numbs the mind but doesn't completly wipe it out. I still dream.
I finish up with the basics: I crank up the transmitter, load the first show to air, update the weather reports for today, activate the commercial reels so we keep our advertsiers happy, take the readings to keep the FCC happy, update the weather phone to keep my various snooping supervisors happy and now that the 6 am starting time has passed without a hitch, it's time to make me a little happier.
Within legal and ethical boundaries at least, I am at work after all...
My mojo needs a little boost, and short of anything pharmaceutical popping up (Even if I really did still do that kinda thing), I need that Ambrosia/Nectar of the Columbian Shuck-n-Jive-Jovial-Jazzy-Hyper Gods of Warm Fuzzy Java Goodness.
My legal drug, Caffiene.
My Poison, COFFEE
Of course I actually have been taken with Sumatra blend as of late, this particular variant not giving me the bile of after-ass flavor that the Columbian beans had begun to sully my morning ritual with. I had shifted to milky chai for awhile (British habit I have found tolerably good) due to this harbinger of impending middle age: Acid Reflux.
This morning though I was out of my blend, but a conveniently placed bag from CuppaJoes convinced me there could be salavation from the Purgatory of Folgers, something called Yemen.
It smelled kinda funky, but after years of sampling various cuisines from around the world I have found that even well disguised entrees and beverages can be quite tasty if you get past the camoflage. Being a Southerner I have had to explain Bananna and Duke's mayonaise sandwiches often enough to the faint of heart; from snake to shark, sushi to crawdads, kebabs to kimchee, I have looked into the beady eyes of more than one variation of gastronomical Gehanna, grinned and said "I'd fancy another go at whatever that was, right tasty, and this time let's try the part with the wobbly bits in it..."
I was not to be deterred, I needed my FIXXXXXXXXX.
Yeeesh. The bastards haven't stocked up on the filters or spoons.
Time to get MacGyver on 'em, nobody will stop me.
So a paper towel filter and improvised stirrer later I was patiently wheeling an old office chair to the front stoop of the station. It's still dark, still calm and a got a cuppa java and clove on standby.
I am ready to get Trancendental here.
And as I lean back, smapling the dampness of the air, contrasting to the warmth of roasted bliss on my lips and the acrid, pungent roll of the smoke out of my lungs the music starts from the outdoor speakers.
Jim Croce.
"Ahhhhhhhhh."
True it's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown"; I would've preferred "Time in a Bottle", but I am trying to wake up, not mellow out per se.
This will do.
The man was cut down before his prime and the passage of years nothwithstanding I have rather dug him since the first time my step-father popped in an 8 track of his on some long forgotten road trip.
Coffee, Cloves and Croce.
This day may become bearable after all.
Sitting here, alone in the living, breathing near darkness of the predawn, lost in thought, feeling that mellow numbness and clarity that follows when one is near content and nothing else is required in the immedaite future. One can just sit and BE, lower the defenses and see what world and self has to say to one's psyche. When we lower the defenses (The one's we never seem to realize we have in place, being so automatic and natural as slipping into your undershorts first thing in the morning) the small voices that have been there all along can finally whisper to you of wisdom and worry, folly and fairytales as well as the occasional dirty joke you forgot the punchline to the week before.
At times like this it can seem the whole world is wide open before you, yet small enough to be attainable, once you finish up with what you're doing, which is really nothing right now. It's all just mere and simple contentment, a small pleasure, an island in the sea of life, a brief plateau and breather before the climb to the next level, and while I'm here it's all open and waiting, for a moment me and the world are having a shared moment, later on, who knows?
Somethings will happen, anything is possible, nothing is guaranteed....
trinityy:
wilmington mass is where your from?